


Last Act of Defiance

by PDF



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Depression, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Magic, Mind Control, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Past Torture, Possible Character Death, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Some untagged stuff because it would be a major spoiler, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-18 04:25:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16988007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PDF/pseuds/PDF
Summary: Keith tries to infiltrate Haggar's druids and is captured. Haggar and Keith then disappear, and It takes an entire year to find them. When they do, Keith doesn't remember anyone, including the person he was. Lance tries to reconcile his feelings for Keith, but Keith is acting weird, and no matter what they try, he doesn't remember anything. Lance just wants things to go back to the way they were before, but whether that's possible or not, Haggar's influence is not so easily ignored.





	1. The Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place (and diverges from canon) after episode 41, (Season 5 episode 2) "Blood Duel". (The one where Lotor and Zarkon fight) Episode 42 and beyond never happen. Lance learns to transform his bayard into a sword elsewhere, Lotor deals with his own problems, and Haggar abandons the Galra empire's political scene.
> 
> I recommend watching the whole show before reading this to avoid any spoilers, minor or otherwise, but there are no major spoilers for events after season 6.

It had been a year. One whole year since Keith was captured. One whole year since you had last seen him, and a little longer since he left the Paladins of Voltron to assist the Blade of Marmora. Haggar was planning something. Still is, by the looks of it. All the signs point to something big coming, and for almost the entire year, you were stuck twiddling your thumbs and dealing with a bunch of nobodies.

You looked of course. You all did. Never had the Paladins of Voltron worked so closely with the Blade of Marmora for so long, but Haggar covered her tracks well. The druids of the Galra empire proved to be impossible to meaningfully infiltrate on multiple occasions. That fact is what got Keith caught in the first place, and what has kept Keith hidden since. No matter how much you all expanded the Blade’s intelligence network or monitored druid activity, nothing so much as hinted at what was going on. Haggar had gone off the radar, quite literally. Pidge had to create a new radar after studying magic for what felt like an eternity, and then it took at least twice as long wandering around until it picked up something. When it finally did, _oh boy_. It wasn’t actually Haggar it found, but the ambient quintessence she was gathering in an alarming radius. After tracing it back, confirming Keith’s presence and staking out the place thoroughly, you’ve all finally come up with the perfect plan, a joint operation with the Blade of Marmora, so airtight that not even Haggar’s magic bullshit can save her… probably.

No matter what, today is the day you rescue Keith.

 

* * *

 

Pidge has utter control of the security systems. It seems like the druids were expecting you all, but the Blade of Marmora systematically took down every last one anyway, excluding the ones helping Haggar. She’s busy doing something weird, as usual. All you really know about it is that it involves Keith, which is enough to be deeply worrying. Still, things are overall going according to plan. All you have to do is take the shot. Pidge made it; she called it a quintessence dart. You don’t know how she scienced up some antimagic, but apparently it can disable Haggar’s bullshit, something you don’t even trust a much more lethal shot to do.

You’re separated from the rest of the Paladins, who are waiting outside of Haggar’s creepy voodoo chamber with a dozen blades. You’re supposed to get to an unguarded (or rather, unguardable) vantage point from within the ventilation system, a few dozen feet above the ground. It’s claustrophobic and difficult to maneuver, but you’ve never crawled faster in your life.

The universe has been comparably peaceful. This has been your top priority for a long time, if not everyone’s, from both a logistical and emotional standpoint. Not that whatever Haggar is doing isn’t potentially dangerous on a huge scale, but it doesn’t feel as important. It’s finally time, your opportunity, to get the last of your friends kidnapped by the Galra back. It’s time to put an end to everyone going somber every single time he’s brought up, to put an end to all the nights spent crying over the odds of never seeing him again or worse, seeing his mangled corpse. All you have to do is take the shot, and Keith will be back, making fun of your shitty jokes and showing you up constantly. All you have to do is take the shot, and everything will be over. You mentally repeat these assurances to yourself like a mantra. You refuse to accept any other outcome.

When you arrive at Haggar’s chamber, you find her in the center of the room, standing in front of Keith, who is strapped to a metal slab like something out of a frankenstein movie. He’s unconscious, shirtless, and visibly emaciated. His body is a mosaic of wounds, bruises, and even burn marks, all atop a patchwork of scars layered on top of each other. The druids encircling Haggar appear to be firing purple lightning at her, which she doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. An extra, particularly large bolt fires from the ceiling, coalescing with the rest into an aura around Haggar. The grate covering the vent can’t get off fast enough, but before you can even begin, Haggar lays her hands on either side of Keith’s head. The effect is almost immediate as the purple lightning spreads from Haggar to Keith and a bone-chilling scream fills the air. The scream itself shakes you, a shiver crawling up and down your spine before you shake it off and focus because you need to do something _now_.

You were supposed to be stealthy, but fuck, you can’t just let this happen, whatever this is. You put down your rifle and punch the grate as hard as you can, but only on the second punch does it come undone and fly off. You ignore the throbbing in your knuckles, pick up the rifle, take aim and fire before the grate can even hit the floor.

It’s a direct hit, piercing through her robe and hitting her right in the back of her neck. She recoils, but doesn’t turn around or take her hands off of Keith, who is still screaming. The Druids are aware of your presence, and look like they’re about to come at you when she yells to the druids in that stupid, scratchy voice of hers, “Don’t stop no matter what happens!”  
You get a horrid nagging feeling that the dart didn’t work, but the witch doesn’t seem like she can spare her attention, so you give the signal for the others to burst in: “The witch is down!”

Immediately, the door to the room bursts open and the other Paladins begin taking out the druids, assisted by members of the Blade, cutting off the streams of purple lightning at the source, one by one. You jump down, using your boosters to break your fall and go straight for the witch and Keith. Well, it’s more like you charged at them at full speed, but it’s the angle that matters, circling from your position behind Haggar to her front, above Keith.

You didn’t want to risk shooting Keith considering how close they are, so you went for a melee attack, changing your bayard from rifle to sword and striking down Haggar without holding back, careful to stay out of the lightning yourself. She falls back with no resistance, probably expecting some magic nonsense to save her. She lands on her back with a thud, her arms locked in place in front of her, her eyes an unblinking milky white. It was unnerving to say the least, but not important, considering how she wasn’t moving. It almost looked like she was dead.

With the witch incapacitated, the remaining druids stopped shooting lightning and either tried to escape in vain or surrendered. You turn your Bayard back into a rifle and fire at the ceiling which mercifully stops dropping lightning immediately. You then turn your attention to Keith who looks like absolute shit and begin undoing the straps holding him in place. “I’m here Keith, we all are. You’re safe now, you’re finally safe.”

Keith doesn’t respond, unconscious again. You freak out a little internally. None of you know what the witch was even planning, and it pretty obviously involved Keith, but you try to stay calm as you get the last of Keith’s straps off. As you do so, the last of the druids are knocked out without your assistance, and Keith starts to crumbles forward before you catch him. He’s still breathing, but it’s worryingly labored. He feels so fragile in your arms, so thin and weak, you’re worried that so much as carrying him over your shoulder would be too much for him. You announce to everyone, “I’m taking Keith back” and run out, opting to carry him bridal style.

It’s not long before you get Keith into a recovery pod with Coran’s help, and not long after that before the rest of the Paladins join you in the castle, one by one. None of you say much, instead just staring or muttering to themselves. Keith was in a recovery suit now, but you all saw his condition back there. It couldn’t have been easy being captive by the witch for a whole year, but you never imagined she could be so brutal. It wasn’t like Haggar to do stuff like this, or at least not her modus operandi. She was a monster, sure, but torture was always a means to an end; the Blades knew at least that much about her. This on the other hand? This was sick. Your stomach churned thinking about what could have possibly caused all those scars. You can even see some on his neck now, sticking out above his collar.

When a small light on the pod’s screen goes from red to blue and Coran announces that Keith’s condition is stable, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and the tension in the room seems to slowly dissolve. “From the looks of things, he’ll be unconscious for at least another day.”

Shiro, ever the leader, tries to keep everyone functioning “It’s been a long day. We should all get some rest so we can welcome him back tomorrow.” Tacit or otherwise, everyone agrees and slowly begins to scatter. Pidge leaves to analyze the data she took from Haggar’s database, Hunk leaves to prepare dinner, and the others leave to wash up after a stressful mission. Still, you feel compelled to stay, watching the simple movement of his breathing as if it were a sight to behold. Shiro notices and lingers, walking back and putting a hand on your shoulder. “He’s safe now, Lance.” You know this. You don’t need Shiro to tell you this. You’ve said it yourself during the rescue, but…

“Is he?” Haggar was doing something to him, and while he seems fine, you don’t want Keith to have to hurt anymore. Your worry, your doubt and your fear all tangle up in a big inky scribble that settles in the forefront of your mind. They wrest your thoughts into an uncomfortable stalemate and refuse to disperse no matter how long you stare at him.

Shiro does his best to assuage your thoughts, but they feel hollow in a way you can’t place. “Safe as can be.”

You sigh. “...I guess I can’t believe that’s he’s right here in front of me. It’s been so long, Shiro.”

“He’s been through a lot. He needs his rest, and so do you.”

You hate to leave, but you’ve got to admit he’s right. Keith won’t be waking up any time soon and you’re exhausted. “Alright.” Before you leave though, you get one more good look at Keith. You don’t think you’ve ever realized just how much you missed him. Your heart twinges at the thought- at the _fact_ that a proper reunion will have to wait, but as sad as it is, you’ve waited a year. You can wait a little longer… probably.

 

* * *

 

When you wake, it’s in a foggy haze. It’s as if you were underwater, right down to the prickly tingle on your skin. You hear voices, but they’re muddled and distant, and for some reason feel unimportant. As you crack open your eyes, your vision itself takes a few seconds to focus, as if your eyes were a brand new pair, adjusting to the hardware they’re connected to. Before you can get used to the calming blue before you, the recovery pod opens and you find yourself wincing at the room’s blindingly average level of light. A sobering cacophony of welcome erupts and you shrink back from it only to realize there’s nowhere to go.

“Keith!”

“Welcome back Keith.”

“It’s good to have you back, Keith. We missed you, buddy.”

“Jeez, Keith, I was starting to think you’d sleep in all day.”

You narrow your focus on the entourage before you, looking at you expectantly with smiles on their faces, hovering around your pod so closely as to block off all exits. You instinctively want to back away, but of course, your back is already against a wall. You don’t step forward, and you don’t respond, and in the pregnant silence, their expressions visibly shift.

“Keith?”

“hu-” You try to respond, but your voice cracks and falters into a clipped half-word as your throat protests in agony, a ripping sensation lingering painfully. You clear your throat and try again, coming out much better this time. “Who’s Keith?”

Everyone’s faces falls immediately, a collage of shock and disappointment plain to see. Still, as you regain your lucidity, you can’t help but feel slighted. _You_ should be the shocked one here, right? No matter how you slice it, you’re the one in an abnormal situation. You demand answers, right the fuck now. “Where am I?” You say it a bit loud, letting your irrational irritation creep into your voice and it just makes them even more surprised. “What the quiznak is going on!?”

The tallest here, a man with a striking patch of white in otherwise black hair is the first to answer. “Calm down, Keith.” It’s not an answer, and therefore has the opposite effect on you. Your mind races as you weigh your options, but in the middle of estimating the viability of making a break for it, the man continues, speaking slowly and staying where he is as if you’re a cornered animal. Not too far off, you guess. “You’re home, in the castle of the lions. You’re safe now.”

The big one gives you a sad, kicked puppy look. “It’s us Keith.” Someone else, a lean teenager in a dull-colored jacket, interjects with a softness to his voice that makes you feel guilty for some reason. “You don’t remember us?”

You’re caught off guard as the situation starts to sink in, and all you can do is shake your head. What follows is yet another deafening round of silent disappointment. Is this going to be a regular thing around these people?

You’re about to inquire more about what’s going on, but as you’re wondering what to ask first, your stomach rumbles, cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. Apparently, that’s enough to snap everyone out of their funk.

The big one doesn’t quite smile, but he perks up, giving you a knowing look. “Hungry?”

A lady with pointy ears- the only woman here you notice, answers for you. “He did spend quite a while in the recovery pod, and it doesn’t seem like he was eating much before that.”

The only man with pointy ears agrees. “You got that right, he looked like he was blown straight to Wozblay!”

The tall one chimes in. “We can get him back up to speed while he eats.”

The one in the jacket interjects again. He’s kind of loud, isn’t he? “Why are you saying that like this is permanent? We should be focusing on getting him to remember everything.”

The short one with glasses pulls out a laptop, balancing it on one hand and typing into it with the other. “It’s worth a shot. I’ll go prepare some footage of when he was a Paladin.”

You really wish you had names to put to these faces. “Oh! Make sure you include that one time he and Lance had a 'bonding moment'.”

All of them gradually brightened back up as they animatedly reminisced and tossed around ideas. Frankly, it was kind of annoying, since none of it was very helpful, but you’re taken out of your thoughts when a hand is offered to you. It’s jacket guy, giving you a cheshire grin. “I guess you don’t remember any of us, huh? I’m Lance, your rival and the dashing hero who led your rescue.” Something about the way he smiles gives you the feeling you can’t trust what this person says, as if the looks everyone gives him wasn’t enough of a hint. Still, he seems harmless enough, so you grab his hand as you take your first step out of the recovery pod. It’s shaky, but he keeps you steady. You all make your way through the "castle," taking a detour to "your" room to change out of the weird suit you woke up in before finally reaching the kitchen. You end up leaning against Lance most of the way, but by the way he smiles the whole time, you don’t think he minds.

Not that you were exactly chatty before, considering they’re all a bunch of strangers, but it’s nice to just shut up and eat while they go over what happened. The green goo they serve you isn’t very good, but you’re hungrier than you realized, so you scarf it down like it was the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Going over who everyone is and how you ended up here is a bit of an information overload, but at least you can finally discard the idea that you’ve been kidnapped or something.

You try your best to keep everything they tell you straight. You’re Keith. You were part of an intergalactic group of giant wild cat mecha pilots with colorful uniforms before you decided to join up with the Swords of Sarsaparilla (or whatever they were called) in order to become a space ninja. You were supposed to infiltrate a group of evil wizards in order to figure out what the wicked witch of the weird was up to but instead got caught and became her lab rat or something, which apparently caused you to lose your memory? You finish off the last of your food and wipe your mouth. “Not that I don’t believe you guys, but this story is stupid.”

Lance is apparently hard of hearing, since he ignores the first part. “It’s the truth! Show ‘em the videos Pidge!”

Pidge is much more sensible, and it’s totally not just because she agrees. “Yeah, it is pretty stupid.”

“Hey!”

Pidge ignores him, typing away at her computer. “I’ve just about finished compiling some videos out of archived security footage. I even scraped together some action scenes from places I’ve hacked. We can have a viewing party in the lounge. Maybe it’ll help you remember.”

Hunk is already microwaving something. “Way ahead of you.”

Apparently it’s cause for excitement, at least for Lance. “Dude, you found popcorn!?”

“They’re alien, but they’re pretty good. I’ve been saving these for a moment like this.”

Shiro turns to you. “Can you stand?”

Everyone is so friendly; always focused on you. You get that this is some kind of reunion, but it’s kind of disconcerting. You can’t help but feel uncomfortable, but pushing them away won’t get you anywhere, so you try your best to hide it. “...Where’s the lounge?”

The group leads you to a large, comfy room with some couches pointed at a table. Pidge fiddles with her computer and a holographic screen soon comes to life above it, the videos playing immediately. It starts with security footage of the ship, just a collection of ambient banter, snide remarks and ridiculous conversations. You have to hand it to Pidge’s editing skills, it’s actually kind of entertaining. You do get your first good look at yourself, considering you haven’t been able to use a mirror yet. Your hair has gotten a bit longer since then, but the others confirm that it’s you without even asking.

After it drags on for a while, the footage cuts to somewhere else, showing all of you in your colorful outfits taking down robots and the Galra. You lack a frame of reference to compare it to, but you’re impressed by everyone nonetheless, including yourself. You think they’re messing with you when they tell you you’re half Galra, but nope, apparently Galra genes are just recessive or something.

Hours pass by as they show you everything from forming voltron to a certain [vlog](https://youtu.be/YekC99bDMtU) you have no memory recording. You learn that Pidge is actually a girl, and that Shiro has a cybernetic arm that you can’t believe you’ve never noticed until now. You learn that Lance is full of shit, and that you were kind of broody and had a temper. Still, you don’t remember anything, and it’s a little off-putting how they would turn back to you every so often to ask. The videos don’t help. They don’t even ring a bell. Not a single inkling of familiarity, and not even the faintest sense of deja vu. A few hours after the first yawn, Pidge decides to call it in. “I don’t think it’s working, guys.”

Lance is tired but not ready to give up. “Aw, come on, it’s only been… Uh…”

“Six hours.”

You join the conversation in order to back up Pidge. You’re getting tired, and it gets kind of boring after a while. “I’m sorry, but I’m not getting anything out of these.”

Even half-asleep, Hunk is quick to comfort you, “Hey, don’t apologize, it’s not your fault. Maybe it’ll come back over time?”

Pidge offers her theory, “Maybe it has something to do with what Haggar was doing when we rescued him.”

Lance gives Pidge an exasperated look. “Gee, what makes you say that? Was it how she was _frying his brain at the time_?”

“What I meant was that his memories might be blocked magically or something. I started decrypting the data I took when I hacked into Haggar’s database yesterday, but it’ll take a while before it’s finished.”

Then Shiro speaks up, “Allura, you look like you have something on your mind.”

You turn to see that she’s been staring at you, and almost flinch at the intensity of her gaze. “I’m concerned the Keith may come under the witch’s influence. I think we need to take precautions.”

Pidge comes to your defense. “Haggar is in a coma, and even if she did wake up, she wouldn’t be able to use any magic, thanks to yours truly. I put some of that magic retardant I made in a medical bracelet that should give her a steady dose, and the Blade of Marmora said they’d keep us updated.”

From what you gather, Shiro is the leader of the group, which makes it worrying when he disagrees, “No, Allura’s right. Whatever she’s done could have lingering effects.”

Lance gets defensive in your stead, and you’re silently grateful, since doing so yourself is much harder. “So what, we finally get him back after all this time and you’re going to slap some cuffs on him?”

Shiro is taken aback, which is perversely comforting. “I never said that. There’s no need for that yet.” Yet, he says. “I was just going to suggest we keep his room locked at night so that there aren’t any surprises.” he pauses, looking at you apologetically. “Sorry, Keith.”

You suppose that’s not as bad as what you were expecting. “It’s fine, I understand.” You really don’t, but if it’s just at night, then you shouldn’t have any reason to care.

Pidge eases your concerns, “It’s just until I can get the witch’s data decrypted and figure out what she was up to. In the meantime, one of us will have to come by to get you each morning.”

“I’ll do it.” Everyone turns to Lance, yourself included. You don’t have a full understanding of your relationship, but you were under the impression that the two of you argued more than the others.

“What? It gives me more time with him, and unlike _some people_ , I haven’t given up on jogging his memory yet!” He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but you get the feeling that that includes you.

Shiro reprimands him, “Lance!”

Lance ignores Shiro. “Can’t talk, I gotta get to bed early if I wanna be awake for when Keith usually gets up.” With that, he walks out. His voice is casual and sarcastic, but his hands are clenched into fists. Shiro calls out for him again, but he doesn’t stop.

Another awkward silence fills the room, and it seems that it’s up to you to break it. “Do I usually get up early?”

Hunk confirms, “Yep, even on vacation days.”

You decide you don’t like the old Keith.


	2. The Nightmare

You’re running.

The ground is an inky blackness that stretches out as far as the eye can see, smooth and even like one giant piece of glass. The terrain is completely barren, with only the starry sky and some listless clouds to break up the horizon.

There is everywhere to run, but nowhere to hide, so you just keep pushing yourself harder and harder. Still, no matter what you do, it’s always right on you, inescapable, breathing down your neck as if you weren’t moving an inch. You feel a hand on your shoulder for but an instant and suddenly you’re on the ground, sprawled out and gasping for breath. The looming figure doesn’t give you any time before it whips out a knife and stabs it through your bicep, a lightning strike of pain shooting through you. You cry out uselessly, the jagged ripping sensation lighting up your arm in a flash. You reflexively curl up, but it puts a foot on your chest, shoving you back down as you writhe in agony. It leans in a bit, and you finally get a good look at your phantasmal assailant.

It’s you.

Top to bottom, it can only be you. Red jacket, gray eyes, and a scowl that could rip holes through space and time itself. He leans down, grabs the knife in your arm, and rips it out with an awful twist. You can’t help but scream as you shut your eyes and try to block out the pain, but then his hands are on your face, roughly forcing one eye open. The next thing you see is the bloodied knife coming down directly at it, directly at _you_.

When you wake up, it’s spastic and violent, trying desperately to twist your body away from the knife but getting caught in the blankets and pillows, a disorienting mess of screaming panic. As you come to the realization that you’re in a bed, you right yourself against the wall, roughly slamming your back into it and trying to get a grip, only to fail and scramble onto the floor, towards the door, away from the blanket that kept you pinned down.

The door doesn’t open.

You try to open it normally at first but what little composure you had evaporates when it doesn’t respond. You try to force it open but quickly give up in favor of throwing yourself at the door in a haphazard tackle. After the third try, you calm down enough to recognize the lack of danger and slide down the door on your shoulder, breathing heavily. Your heart is beating so fast that it physically hurts in your chest, but not as much as the pins and needles skewering your arm in an awful tingle, as if you’ve dipped it in liquid static. You shut your eyes tight and push them into your "good" forearm, leaning it on your knee and using your other hand to grip your chest as you focus on breathing.

It’s rough at first. You physically cannot keep up with your need to breathe, and trying to take deep breaths just makes it worse. It takes a while before you manage to stop hyperventilating, and your breathing eventually evens out enough to slow down. Your feel your heart through your chest the whole time, but the feeling grows less pronounced as it slows to a less erratic pace. Your chest still hurts as if your heart bruised something, but the prickly feeling in your arm dissolves as you visually and physically confirm that there is no stab wound.

You know what a dream is. You know what a nightmare is. You don’t have memories of them, but you’re certain that whatever you just went through was neither. You grip the spot on your arm, recalling the pain of getting stabbed. You don’t exactly have anything to compare it to, but it felt real, or at least too vivid. The sharp sting of the blade, like a needle far too large and far too deep, a literal stabbing pain that crescendoed as every slight twitch sent shockwaves through your very being. A chill crawls up your arm just thinking about it and your hair goes back to standing on end. You rub it, trying to shake the feeling, to put it out of your mind, to not think about the twist of it coming out, about the searing cold of the air and the thick wetness of the blood you were barely cognizant of.

You get up off the ground and walk to the attached bathroom on the other end of the room. When you turn on the light, you’re greeted with the sight of yourself in the mirror and manage to resist the urge to recoil away. Still, you can’t help but grimace as you shut the door behind you and get a good long look at yourself.

You’re covered in a cold sweat, your hair sticking to your brow. You look as disgusting as you feel, so you turn on the sink and splash some water on your face. You don’t look quite right in the mirror. It bothers you in a way you can’t describe, so you busy yourself rummaging around the bathroom until you find a pair of altean scissors and begin to trim your hair. It hasn’t gotten that much longer compared to the videos, and maybe it shouldn’t rightfully bother you, but you can’t help but feel a little comforted when you manage to get it looking as it used to. You feel more "normal," like you didn’t just lose your memories; like you’re not locked in as a precaution against literal witchcraft, and like you didn’t just have an extremely detailed nightmare about killing yourself.

Your arm and, more broadly, your skin in general still feels clammy, so you decide to take a shower. The warm water soothes your anxiety, and it’s relaxing, just busying yourself with the mundanity of personal hygiene. Still, your huge collection of scars are an ever-present reminder of reality that you can't ignore.

After toweling off and changing into some new clothes, you sit back on your bed, picking up your blanket from where it laid forgotten on the floor. You can’t sleep- you don’t even entertain the thought, but evidently it’s not "morning" yet. You absently wonder what you even did for fun before. Your room is exceedingly tidy. If not for the clothes, you would have thought that this was just a fancy cell. It’s barren, devoid of almost any personal belongings. Even going through the room’s meager storage, you only find more clothes and a pair of fuzzy red lion slippers. Did you… wear these?

Boredom sets in and hours pass before the door to your room finally opens to reveal Lance, standing there with a tired smile.

“What took you so long?”

“Just had to take care of some things. This should be earlier than your usual time anyway. How long have you been awake?”

“A couple of varga.”

Lance gives you a quizzical look. “Riiight… varga…”

“Well it had to have been a while.” You’re not sure if your sense of time is accurate, but you’re certain it was more than a varga.

“Do you mean… hours?”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “What?

“Hours, Keith. You know, Earth time?”

“Earth…?” You stop and rub your temple as if it would summon your lost memories, but are reminded by the universe that trying to remember things on command is a fruitless effort.

He gives you a forlorn look, like you’ve just kidnapped his firstborn child. “You don’t remember Earth?”

You shake your head and bring your thumb and forefinger to your chin, contemplating the extent of your recollection. (Or rather, lack thereof) “I can’t remember people, places or events, but this doesn’t make sense. I should be able to remember a unit of measurement. I should  _know_  something like that. I remember Altean time just fine.” 60 ticks make up a dobosh. 60 doboshes make up a varga. 20 vargas make up a quintant, and so on. This information is basic to you. You never needed to "remember" it, it was something you just knew.

Lance shrugs. “Galrans and the Blade of Marmora both use Altean time.”

“The space ninjas?”

“Yeah, those guys. You were with one or the other for a long time. Maybe you forgot things you haven’t used in the last year or so?”  
“Maybe.” It’s not a bad theory, but it’s a worrying one, since it means you’ve lost more than just memories. “So what you’re saying is that in addition to losing my memories, I know nothing that doesn’t pertain to being either a space ninja or a lab rat?”

Lance dons a shit-eating grin. “Fine dining and breathing.” You feel like he’s making fun of you, but you don’t know how. You don’t know how to respond to that, and he must notice, since he continues without prompting, “Don’t sweat it! If you’re so worried about not knowing things, all you need to do is remember!”

He has a good point, except for how you were  _just_  reminded that trying to remember things on command doesn’t work. “Well, if I’m going to remember anything, I’m not going to be able to do it by closing my eyes and trying really hard.”

“And that’s what I’m here for! But first, it’s time for breakfast, and I asked Hunk to make something extra special.” You raise an eyebrow. Didn’t he storm off last night? He wasn’t even there for dinner. (Not that you can blame him- food goo is a lot less appetizing when you aren’t starving) You guess it must have happened after they showed you to your room. You idly wonder how long exactly he was up planning things, but before you can dwell on it for too long, he impatiently steps forward and grabs your hand. “Come on, you’ll love it!” He then drags you out of the room, speed-walking excitedly. You let him, doing your best to match his pace as he leads you through the halls of the castle.

When you finally reach the kitchen, you’re assaulted by the smell of grease and meat. Your mouth waters involuntarily and you suddenly become a lot hungrier than you were ten seconds ago. Hunk stands over a grill indistinguishable from the countertop it is nestled in, only identifiable by its indentation compared to the rest of the counter. It’s the exact same color as the countertop, but by the sizzle of its contents, it seems plenty effective.

“Yo Hunk, is it ready?”

“You guys are right on time.” One by one, he moves various meats off the grill and into seven separate piles of what you can only assume to be elaborate sandwiches, each sitting on a separate plate, all atop a serving cart. Next to each sandwich are oceans of long, thin, rectangular stuff with a golden hue and tapered ends. Lance gestures to them with both arms. “Tada~! Some good old fast food. You always said you missed the stuff, and Hunk had some ingredients lying around.”

“Just about everything had to be substituted, but the fries are almost exactly the same as the ones on Earth! Everyone’s already waiting in the dining room. Mind bringing over the soda for me Lance?”

“Of course man.”

Lance lets go of your hand, and you suddenly become acutely aware that Hunk’s been there the whole time. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, so you put it out of your mind and follow Lance to the fridge as he unloads large bottles of rust-colored liquid. “We don’t have any soda from Earth, but this stuff tastes just like pepsi.” You have no idea what pepsi is, nor where they could have possibly gone looking for it, but you distinctly recall everyone drinking nothing but water yesterday. Did they go get this in the short span of time between when you went to sleep and when he came by?

You make a mental note to try to find out later as Lance leads you to the dining room right next door. As soon as you walk in, everyone greets you warmly. You and Lance take a seat as Hunk comes in, presenting everyone with a plate of the food while Lance busies himself pouring you a drink. Only afterwards does he pour one for himself, and then he sets the bottle on the table, ignoring the others. There are two bottles, and Pidge has long since stolen the first one, but the fact that he poured your drink for you feels rather conspicuous now.

Either way, you can no longer ignore the food in front of you, which has an overpowering scent. The other humans dig in right away, not bothering with utensils, while Allura and Coran try to follow suit. It’s pretty thick, so you share their apprehension at biting through the whole damn thing, but you manage to do it without making any mess.

…

It’s amazing.

You turn to Lance, who is watching you eat with a smile. You smile back genuinely, feeling pure gustatory bliss. Although saying so might be meaningless, this is the best thing you've ever tasted. “I love it. What is it called?” You don’t miss the way Lance's smile twitches.

“It’s a burger. The yellow stuff is fries. Hunk had to use alien meat, so it’s not exactly beef, but-”

“You don’t remember what a burger is?” Hunk’s looking at you now, frowning with knitted eyebrows.

“I… No, I don’t.” Come to think of it, do you remember any foods? You remember some plants and animals, including which ones are usually eaten. You’re familiar with the concept of gelatin, kebabs and meal bars; various forms and categories of food, but you can’t call to mind how they’re prepared, or any particular dish. “I’ve forgotten some learned information in addition to my memories. Lance thinks it’s because I haven’t used it in too long.”

Lance has already resumed shoveling fries in his mouth, but stops long enough to help explain, “He remembers Altean time, but doesn’t remember Earth time. Crazy, right?”

“There’s some stuff that doesn’t seem very relevant to being a space ninja, but if he’s right, then I don’t know anything from before I left Voltron, give or take. I imagine I wasn’t much of a gourmand in that time.”

Hunk’s eyes seem to light up. “Well then. I guess I have no choice but to help you get  _reacquainted_.” He gives you a scheming look and you look away, nonchalantly nibbling on some fries. You’re not good with attention.

Shiro thankfully relieves you. “Well, you’ve done an excellent job Hunk. It’s nice to get a taste of home again.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as you all enjoy the meal. The Alteans like it, albeit aren’t used to the grease. Pidge informs everyone that it should be a day or two more before the data is decrypted, and you ask everyone if a "day" means the same thing as a quintant or not. Apparently this was a hot button topic, because the Alteans thought that it was the whole time, since a quintant is based on the length of an Altean day. They then start arguing about what a day should mean among the Paladins, and then whether they should use the term quintant or not, since it was specifically made to prevent confusion in space. After that, they start arguing about how a quintant is basically just an Altean day, and how there were more humans than Alteans aboard, and then if you count as a human, since you’re part Galra, and then whether that matters, since you’re already using Altean time…

You and Lance excuse yourselves.

You still don’t know your way around the ship, but Lance is taking you on a tour of it before you can think to ask. It’s pretty large, but doesn’t feel nearly as labyrinthian as it did the other day/quintant.

Lance finishes the tour at his own room and invites you in to play a game called "Killbot Phantasm." You accept and end up spending hours flying through it. It’s a single-player game, and you offer to let Lance play multiple times, (there’s multiple save slots so there’s no reason he shouldn’t) but Lance seems content to just spectate, dropping hints whenever they would help.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, so what you’re going to want to do is unequip all of Reitha’s armor. Take her staff while you’re at it.”

“Wait, why? Isn’t that skeleton dragon over there a boss?”

“Yeah, just trust me on this one.”

You trust him on this one.

The boss fight itself is surprisingly easy. It only takes a few turns before the battle ends and a cutscene occurs.

Wait, what is it doing?

No.

Fuck, are you kidding?

“Did it just  _kill_  Reitha?”

“Not quite.”

Some weird black stuff trickles out of the dragon’s mouth and into Reitha. Reitha rises off the ground like a puppet pulled on invisible strings. The dragon cackles in prototypical villainous fashion as the game transitions back to the battle screen. It’s the same as before, except you’re down to two party members and a spooky, glowing version of Reitha is now on the enemy side.

“ ‘Nightmare Reitha’?”

“Yep.”

Since Reitha has no equipment and the boss hits like a wet noodle, it’s a pretty easy fight. The boss has quite a bit of health, but you decide to go out of your way to kill it first, if only to see if something different happens. Lance doesn’t say anything about it, even though it’s pretty obvious that focusing down Reitha first would probably make things easier. The boss eventually goes down, but of course, the battle doesn’t end, so you move on to Reitha. It only takes a couple of hits before things are brought to a close. Even random encounter enemies are harder to kill than her. The next cutscene plays, showing your hero mourning over Reitha’s death, which is apparently irreversible unlike the other countless times your characters have died.

“So they force  _you_  to kill off Reitha?”

“Sucks, don’t it? At least you didn’t lose her equipment too.”

You decide to stop playing after reaching the next save point, standing up and stretching out your stiff limbs. “Pretty good game. A bit slow, but the story is interesting.”

Lance nods. “It’s really nostalgic for me. I don’t know if you ever played it before, but I figured you should try it either way. Glad to know you liked it.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable back and forth as Lance recounts his own playthrough of the game while you walk to the kitchen. You have no idea what time it is, but it must have been quite a while, since Lance announces that you’ve missed lunch.

When you get to the kitchen, Hunk and the others are nowhere to be seen, so you assume Lance’s "mac and cheese" isn’t as big of an event as the "fast food" was. He prepares it by himself, not once asking you to lift a finger, so you just stand there, waiting on the side. You try to think of a way to offer your help, but from the looks of things, you'd just get in the way. “Hey, Lance. You know you don’t need to go through so much trouble over me, right?”

He answers without looking your way, focused instead on organizing the ingredients. “Well, you’re not going to remember Earth by eating food goo, are you?”

He doesn’t get it. Your mind drifts to this morning where he poured your drink before his own. “What I mean is that you’ve been acting strange.”

“ _Oh?_   _I’ve_  been asking strange!?”

You probably could have phrased that better. “Look, Lance-”

Lance puts down everything he’s holding and turns to you. “One of my best friends gets kidnapped by a fucking psychopath. I spend an entire year worrying and freaking out that I’ll never see him again, and when I finally  _do_  find him, you’re beaten to a bloody pulp and breathing like you’ve got a beehive trapped in your lungs. I finally get you back after all this time, I finally get to see my friend again, and it’s _strange_  that I want to spend time with you? It’s _strange_ that I want to help you get through this? It’s _strange_  that I don’t want to just sit back and let whatever happens happen anymore!?

“Lance…” Tears streak down his face silently. His poker face is flawless and angry, but the red wetness of his eyes betray him. You walk up and put your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder as his facade breaks and he lets out muted sobs. He hugs you back and you apologize, “I’m sorry.” You try to think of something else to say, of assurances or comforting words, but in the end everything you think of feels so pointless and hollow.

“No, don’t be.” You hear him wipe his face before he pulls back all too soon, looking far too tired. “That wasn’t even about you, and I’m wrong anyway.” He returns to the macaroni, throwing himself into the process mechanically. “Shiro said you’d need your space, and he’s right. I just… I can’t just pretend things are the same now, you know?”

Wait a second. “Space?”

“You know how everyone is really excited that you’re back but has kept to themselves all day? Shiro said it was probably for the best that we pretend everything is back to normal so that you don’t get overwhelmed.”

Oh.

So it  _wasn’t_  a coincidence.

As much as you hate to say it, Shiro is right. You can’t handle the attention of so many people on you at the same time, and you’re kinda grateful you don’t have to. Still, if Lance thinks you want him to back off, he has the wrong idea about what you meant in the first place. “Let the others know I appreciate it. It’s still kind of disorienting being here.” Even though "here" is all you’ve ever known. “That being said, I wasn’t trying to push you away. I was just worried that you’ve… well, been putting me before yourself.”

“Oh come on, that’s not-”

You cut him off before he makes up an excuse. “How much sleep did you get last night?” He doesn’t answer and doesn’t meet your gaze. You lean in, and the way he averts his eyes guiltily confirms your suspicions.

“How’d you find out?”

“‘Had some ingredients lying around’?”

He feigns offense. “It was believable! I have plausible deniability!” He smirks as he says it, which fills you with relief for some reason.

You smile back. “Uh huh, which is why Hunk waited until the  _second_  day to use them.” You try not to look too smug, but you certainly feel smug. “Look, I know you just want to help me, but I don’t want you to do it at your own expense. Can you at least promise me you’ll get some sleep tonight?”

His smirk diminishes until he’s just staring at the macaroni, mixing the ingredients on autopilot. You’re not sure what he’s thinking, but you hazard a guess, “This isn’t your fault, Lance.”

He agrees explosively, as if to say that your hunch is wrong. “I know it’s not! It’s all that damn witch’s fault!  _Maybe_  I could have done something if I had known, if I was there, but I’m not going to beat myself up about it because I  _wasn’t_  there, and I  _couldn’t_  have known. What I  _am_ worried about is losing my opportunity, of missing my chance to help you when your memories are at their most recent. I can  _do_  something this time around, and…”

He pauses.

“...And the Macaroni’s done.”

The conversation abruptly ends as he transfers the food into bowls and heads to the dining room. He simply seats himself and gets to eating, so you follow suit with the bowl he’s set down next to himself.

Although Lance thankfully doesn’t think this is his fault, he still feels like it’s his responsibility. You suppose you might feel the same if you were in his situation, but you don’t like that’s he’s putting so much pressure on himself like this.

You’re about halfway through your macaroni when he says, “Do you think you'll remember?”

He doesn't look at you as he says it, giving his food an empty stare. “What do you mean?” You ask, genuinely unsure.

“Y’know. Do you think that, as time goes on, you'll remember?”

You consider his question carefully. You have no idea. So far you’ve remembered nothing, but you don’t want to just crush his hopes like that. You're pretty sure that Lance is more invested in the state of your memory than you are. After all, what is it that you've lost? Sure, there's the inconvenience of trying to rebuild your identity, but it's not like you have any attachment to these lost memories. “Honestly? I don't think it matters.”

Lance sputters, “You… what?”

“You guys told me all I need to know about my past, right? Maybe I'm missing a few things, and yeah, there's some stuff I'd like to know, but I'm not one for sentimentality.”

Lance is about to retort something, “Yes you-” before he cuts himself off. You can see the exact moment a flash of inspiration strikes Lance. He stands up, practically yelling, “That's it!

You hear a voice from the door, “What's it?” You turn to see Hunk walking in with a plate of food goo. You’re willing to bet that this is the only macaroni in the castle.

Lance abandons his macaroni and runs off, right past Hunk and out of the room. “Can’ttalktuckKeithinformegottagobye!” In an instant, you and Hunk are left alone. Hunk turns to you with a raised eyebrow and you just shrug. So much for getting Lance to get some proper sleep.

Hunk sits down and the two of you eat in comfortable silence. When you finish, you gather up Lance’s bowl, stacking it neatly with your own and turning to Hunk. “Hey Hunk.”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Did Lance get all these ingredients by himself?”

Hunk sighs. “That was supposed to be a secret.”

You smirk. “Well, Lance should come up with a better excuse next time.”

“He’s pretty excited you’re finally back.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“We all are.”

Your smirk fades as you consider what Lance had said. “...I heard from Lance that Shiro told you guys to stay away.”

Hunk responds without missing a beat, “He said you needed space. He went through something kind of similar, and even I could see the way you acted during breakfast.”

You wince a bit. Were you that obvious? “Was I always like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“This…” apprehensive? Aloof? Antisocial? “...shy?”

“Well, no, but from your perspective, you’ve only met us yesterday, right? You weren’t very sociable back at the galaxy garrison either.” Your mind drifts back to that vlog they played you. You had said it yourself: you have some walls up, but you wonder whether that still applies when you can’t remember losing your mom in the first place. Hunk continues, “You’re going through something weird and confusing, and you need time to get comfortable around everyone again. Even Lance understands that.” You nod but don’t say anything, so he continues eating.

You wait for him to finish before you ask him while the two of you clean up, “Can you tell me more about the galaxy garrison? About Earth?”

Hunk smiles. “Of course man.”

Soon enough you’re in the lounge with your feet kicked up on the table. You hope Allura doesn’t mind. Hunk, as it turns out, is an excellent storyteller. You spend the rest of the night listening as he recounts how you all rescued Shiro, found the blue lion, met the Alteans, and eventually formed Voltron. He goes on to tell you about your time as a Paladin, from start to finish. Pidge’s videos certainly illustrated what you were doing, but you never knew the context. Hearing why you were all fighting and what exactly the Galrans were doing really helps put things into perspective. You mostly thought that Voltron was just another group fighting just another war. A story of gray vs. gray as most wars tend to be, one which you didn’t want to be any part of. However, even if Hunk’s story is biased, you can’t help but feel like you’re on the side of good. Despite how shortly you’ve know him, Hunk doesn’t seem like the type to lie, and considering atrocities like what they did to Allura’s home planet, the title "defenders of the universe" starts to seem like more than just hyperbole.

Eventually Hunk reaches the point where you joined the Blade of Marmora and then pauses. You get the gist of what happened after that. He instead continues from his own perspective, about what the Paladins were doing without you, about the final battle with Zarkon, and their year-long search for you and the witch.

“A new type of radar, specifically to find me?”

“You can thank Pidge for that one. We ended up going all the way to Olkarion for her to study magic. She even made a serum that jams the flow of quintessence and renders it functionally inert!”

“Uh…” Wasn’t quintessence magic itself? Or was it life itself?

Hunk explains, “She made antimagic, Keith. She fought magic with science and won.” You don't fully understand, but that’s a good enough explanation for you.

You don't know what to say other than “that’s incredible.” You’re at a loss. Going to such lengths just to find you? Even if it wasn’t just about you, you’ve got to remember to thank her later. After all, if it wasn’t for her, you might not even be here. Speaking of thanking people... “By the way, thanks.”

“No problem man, if you ever want to hear more about back then, just let me know.” Hunk stands up, stretching his arms out and yawning. The yawn is contagious. “I think it’s about time we call it a night.”

You’re getting pretty tired yourself, so you agree. He takes you back to your room and actually offers to tuck you in. You politely decline before he closes the door, locking you in for the night. After brushing your teeth, taking yet another shower, and generally stalling for as long as possible, you walk over to the bed and try to get yourself as comfortable as possible on it. Surely tonight won’t be as bad, right?


End file.
